


Just Ice

by FlipSpring



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BIPTCH PLEASE, Gen, I swear, also the title is a pun lololol so witty NOT, and then hes like, anyway, aw hel naw, in which loki is dragged back to asgard, like at the end of the movie yanno, lol hel geddit, this $#!T is the equivalent of doodle scribbles in the margin of a notebook, what the fudge are tags even for i don't get it, yeah bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlipSpring/pseuds/FlipSpring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you open your eyes, Odin has frozen mid-speech, Asgardians are gasping, Thor is stepping away from you in shock (the magic of the cuffs and gag falters), and you set your teeth in a victorious snarl as you stare down the one eye of Odin, Father of All <em>except for Loki.</em></p><p><em>You are my brother, Loki! Your family loves you, Loki! Stop this nonsense and come home!</em> Bullshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Ice

**Author's Note:**

> #Fair warning this has no romance in it.  
> #Fair warning this is pretty boring.  
> #Fair warning I already told you this is the keyboard-smash equivalent of margin scribbles  
> #Second person POV  
> #But like don't let that stop you or anything

As you and Thor are beamed back up to Asgard to face your… _rightful justice_ (if that’s what they’re calling it these days)… you reflect blandly on the succession of events that put you here. 

All around you are sparks and rays of brilliant light, a glassy rainbow of breathtaking beauty, with masses of pinpoint stars supporting the mighty _Yggdrasil_ visible just beyond the firework display of the bridge. You gaze upon it apathetically. 

When exactly did things start slipping out of your masterfully controlled mesh of intricate plans and lies? Not Midgard, not really, that whole conquer-the-barbarians charade was a crapshoot from the start and it’s not like you wanted that pathetic planet anyway.

Not the Fall even, when you let go of Mjölnir, let go of your family, your wonderful travesty of a loving family, that den of liars, not the tumble through the void of space, the blackness and emptiness and the _cold_ , the cold so penetrating and empty and vast it suffocated your heart within seconds and froze your drowning, stupid emotions into ice a heartbeat later. 

Not when you told Thor his father was dead. Foolish _brother_. How you hate his thickheaded, blind devotion. _You are my brother, Loki! Your family loves you, Loki! Stop this nonsense and come home!_ Bullshit. You don’t want his love, his pity, you don’t want him, or anyone else mucking about in your life and making a mess out of everything. 

Not when you ascended the throne and invited the Jotuns into your castle.

Not… when you laid your hands upon the Casket of Ancient Winters and saw them turn blue, _gods, you HATE BLUE_ , that vile color, a pretense of cold, of ice, a mockery of freezing black void. 

Not… when Odin banished his only son to a tedious punishment for a bratty boy. 

Not… when you failed to guide Thor and his pack of  buffoons bloodlessly out of Jotenheim. 

You think about Jotenheim, when that one nameless Ice Giant grabbed your arm, freezing the glove and sleeve away to a crisp, sending a wash of deplorable _blue_ across your skin. You killed the bastard. 

Your feet land on the edge of the Bifrost, sending a lovely rainbow flash of colors skittering along around your heels, and you decide that yes, _that_ was when things had started to unravel. That was when your lies had spun out from beneath themselves like beads of mercury, when your life itself had become a parody of truth, when you plunged into the sea of chilly blue where you couldn’t even tell which way was deeper darkness and which way was blinding, lightning glare. 

Thor shoves you righteously in the shoulder, and you walk, compliant, unable to muster up more than a brief shimmer of hateful irritation. Head for Asgard, in all its shining, metallic glory, familiar spires in the blue sky, all of it familiar, the city of your childhood and your knowledge and your life… 

Until that nameless Jotun who grabbed your arm and turned it blue. 

The gag on your face is also metallic, silver perhaps, and imbued with a little magic. A sharp plate in the gag passes between your lips and presses down on your tongue. Your handcuffs are tight, cutting into your wrists, and you can feel the crude magic in them, crude and effective (the mark and make of Thor himself), but really, it’s laughable for them to think you’d bother. You’ve been lead around on a tether and repressed for all of your life. You’ve become accustomed to it. It doesn’t have to be magic for it to restrain you.

Besides, the fight has gone out of you. You’ve already been beaten. Broken. Lies shredded by lies. Good intentions twisted by failure and misunderstanding. Emotions frozen into apathy. Body and pride pounded into the floor by a mindless Midgardian monster. You still ache from that. 

And now you stand beside the man who called himself your brother, before the man who called himself your father, before the woman who called herself your mother, and before the thousands of people who’d called you their Prince. 

The liars. And they have the gall to gag you and call you the deceptive one. Imagine. 

What shall Odin do next? You look up at him (always up at him), stew silently in icy hatred at the injustice of it all. If he were to treat you equally to his Beloved Son, he wouldn’t execute you. But you know full well you are no Son of his, you are no son of anyone, you are Loki, Liesmith, Deceiver, Master of Mischief, Emotional Wreak, frozen into a shard of black icy contempt from the endless fall through _solitarily_ endured void. 

Execution? You wonder. Torture? Prison?

... Exile? 

The thought would have been enough to send you into peals of genuine laughter, were it not for the chunk of metal strapped to your face. 

Odin heaves a great sigh, and looks down at you (always down at you), and begins to continue to condemn you by saying, in a patronizing voice that is the liquid essence of condescension itself, “Loki Odinsson…” 

Oh, _HEL_ no. 

The vow you made to destroy him and his precious, _precious_ land, its precious, _precious_ people just became a whole lot less past-tense. He is not going to patronize you like that. You honestly had no idea he had it in him, you would’ve thought he’d want to distance himself as much as possible from your embarrassing existence as his “son”. 

In the pause between his utterance of your “name” and the dramatic unveiling of your punishment, you consider your options. You’re magically bound and gagged. You’ve been bled dry of all the most potent weapons: _love_ (you used to house it for these people, unbelievable though it is now) _, selflessness_ (the things you had done to save Asgard from Thor’s premature and catastrophic rule… thankless, the lot of them) _, truth…_  

That gives you pause. You know better than anyone that nothing cuts sharper than truth. It’s shredded your life, your happiness, and your reputation to ribbons with all the eloquent finesse of the most whisper-sharp blade. Why not throw it back in Odin’s face? Make it indisputable, once and for all, that you are _not_ Loki Odinsson, and never have been, never will be. How many of these idiots also kept the truth from you, and how many were blind enough to follow Odin in all his _benevolence_? 

How many can stand to gaze upon the monster they fear worst of all, one they helped raise and praise and destroy?

You’ve already Fallen for it. You’ve already lost everything you used to care about. With this, you can bring his dignity with you. Cut him where it hurts. Cut them all. 

Odin is starting to say something about your crimes against Asgard and Midgard and Jotunheim, and you close your eyes, relax your shoulders, and let the only magic your restraints let you retain slip away. Unveil Odin’s lie. All their lies.

When you open your eyes, Odin has frozen mid-speech, Asgardians are gasping, Thor is stepping away from you in shock (the magic of the cuffs and gag falters), and you set your teeth in a victorious snarl as you stare down the one eye of Odin, Father of All _except for Loki_. 

He cannot meet your red-eyed gaze. The filthy coward. 

Ice erupts from your blue hands, breaking away the cuffs and hardening into deadly, frosted blades as the Asgardians start screaming, the weakling scum. And they thought _you_ weak, unworthy, a shadow of a shadow of your “ _brother_.” Frost crackles around your feet, and a gust of cold air swirls around you. Let them see their Prince now! See the monster you truly are; you are their worst nightmare, the blue demon relic of war, the embodiment of everything they’ve been taught to loathe. 

You glance to Thor and grin, but he can’t see it through the gag. His eyes are wide, mouth wider, gaping breathlessly like a fish pulled suddenly from its pleasant home, and he starts to raise his hammer with both hands but its too late, because you’ve already struck him with both icy hands, and red blood (also a color you _hate_ , but you’ll let it pass, this once) drips to the marble floor and he staggers. 

Ice and teeth bite the gag in your mouth as you stand over him, letting the gag fall in pieces to the floor, clatter into an echoing chaos as they start to raise their weapons, too slow, all of them, always. Too slow. 

Thor gazes up at you, coughs blood, and is probably about to say something, his lips closing together to form that word you’ve grown to _hate_ , ( _brother…_ ). 

You beat him to the punch. 

“Brother,” you say, though it physically pains you, because lies are your specialty and because it’ll bite into him more painfully than anything else you could conjure, “Oh, dearest brother mine. How I _loathe_ you.”

And then you leave him lying there, bleeding, because you better make use of this chaos and escape before you’re imprisoned again. You let yourself get sucked into the void between worlds, the secret paths that you know better than anyone, having Fallen and been Reborn in its folds, leaving Odin’s court in metallically clanging shambles and Jotun ice cracking the seams of his palace. 

Because you are Loki Silvertongue, God of Chaos and Trickery, and from this moment on, you will never again be owned. You are ice of the void itself. 

Just ice.

**Author's Note:**

> Actually I'm of the camp that Loki purposefully orchestrated events so that he'd get dragged off to Asgard so that he can make out I mean MAKE OFF with the Infinity Gauntlet or some other Overpowered God Item or whatever.
> 
> But yunno. *shrug* This has been drifting through those margin-files of my computer so I thought hey why not, why not just post it.


End file.
